After the Island
by Dr. Mini Pie
Summary: CHAPTER 11 with Yami and Yugi up. After the dueling music stops and the tournament lights go down, the cast of Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters must cope with the aftermath. How their reactions shape them as people. One- and two-shots.
1. Old Haunts, Part 1

Doctor's Note: This series of one- and two-shots will center around the Kaiba brothers and the cast of _Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters_ in their efforts to regain normalcy after the trying, even traumatic events of Duelist Kingdom. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome. Thank you. :) - Dr. Mini Pie

Duelist Kingdom was over.

Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba's big brother, was back, and alive, and working, and going to school. And he was paying attention to Mokuba for the first time in a very, very long time.

He'd make it a point to eat dinner with Mokuba, even if he had to return to the office afterward. Last month on Mokuba's birthday, Seto had given him the new video game he'd wanted, though Mokuba had only mentioned it once. It was Mokuba's first present from Seto in five years.

Still, it was a long and hard road to rebuild trust between them. The few nights after Duelist Kingdom were a rush of emotion – the brothers hugged whenever they saw each other, slept in the same room, ran to check on each other if there was any prolonged separation. Then they both began to remember the troubled darkness that had swelled around their lives before that week on the island, and they retreated, unstable and unsure.

But not all the way. And now, taking small steps forward, they were doing the best they knew how to be brothers again.

Mokuba Kaiba was eleven years old. Naturally, he _lived_ for summer horror movies. Even after Duelist Kingdom and the _actual_ horrors of the Shadow Realm, these movies thrilled him. Nothing in them could compare to that true Darkness. Surrounded by ordinary people, munching on popcorn, he was safe.

For Mokuba, horror movie-going was a grand affair. He and his group would map out the release dates for every one of them and buy their tickets far in advance. Then they'd mob the theater, clamor into the front row, and gaze with their heads tilted back like turkeys, totally engrossed for up to six hours a week.

The best part was Mokuba's complimentary limo ride home, of course. The boys would proudly rub the cricks in their necks and gush over the movie, pausing only to take heaping bites of their Frozen Mountain ice cream sundaes.

Yet the experience, however heavenly, wasn't quite complete for Mokuba.

He resolved to ask Seto to join him this time. He hadn't asked for a _single thing_ from Seto since they'd been home. It was conditioned in him, and Mokuba daren't disrupt their implied comfort zone. In the past, he daren't for another reason.

But _ugh_ , he was tired of the past! And he wanted to share something he loved with his brother. He wanted to invite him in to be a part of his preteen life.

He reasoned, _what's the worst that can happen?_ Seto would say no. Mokuba had plenty of steel in him to weather a little disappointment. He'd wait and ask again when they both felt more ready.

Mokuba repeated these encouragements to himself as he rode the elevator up to the higher reaches of Kaiba Corp. Tower. He had his messenger bag slung over one shoulder (he felt more important when he carried it), and he kicked his heels against the elevator wall.

 _58...59...60_. In place of the usual chime was the electronic _zwing_ of the Life Points counter on a Duel Disk.

Mokuba stepped into the hall. This floor was sparse, and quiet. Sunlight glimmered gently along the sea-colored tile. The hall led to a single door – the door to Seto's office.

Mokuba had seen it once, when the Tower was still under construction and he was invited to review the building. After that he was forbidden. Only recently was his I.D. reprogrammed with special access to the top floor.

In a novel or a movie, this walk down the hall would've felt long and endless. In real life it was short and abrupt. Mokuba took a few deep breaths. Out of the corner of his eye could see the city through the windows, bustling far below. It seemed like a great, silent model toy.

Okay, enough distractions. He buzzed the intercom. Mokuba wondered if he was on camera or not.

 _"Who is it?"_ Seto asked in his business voice. Nope, not on camera. Mokuba cleared his throat.

"Me. Er - it's Mokuba."

Seto's hesitation was very subtle. _"Come in,"_ he said, and Mokuba heard the inner mechanism of the deceptively plain door whir and unlock. The door popped off its hinge. Mokuba eased it open.

His first impression was one of peace. It all clearly worked together to achieve that aura: muted colors, pleasant plants, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in sunlight along the western wall behind his brother's desk. Mokuba had pictured his brother a harried mess, surrounded by gabbing employees, papers flying. Maybe he _had_ been watching too many movies lately...

But here Seto was, sitting alone, and apart from a tiny crease of concentration between his eyes he was possessed by incredible peace.

"You've never been up here," Seto said, watching his brother explore the premises. Mokuba shook his head.

"Just once, when it wasn't built yet," he said.

"I don't remember," said Seto quietly. They both knew why.

Mokuba finally finished looking all around him and stopped a few feet from his brother's desk. Seto watched him fidget, and in a gesture that made Mokuba's spirits inflate, lowered the lid of his laptop to see Mokuba properly.

"What's up, kid?" he offered. Mokuba shrugged.

"Oh, uh, nothing."

Seto raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?" he prodded.

Mokuba was an awful ball of nerves and he cursed himself for it. "Yeah, um, I was just gonna ask you something," he managed, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. He yanked his satchel higher onto his shoulder.

"You could've called me," Seto said. Mokuba nodded distractedly.

"I know. I'm sorry. I can leave. Or, I'll ask you when you get home-"

"You're already here. Go ahead and ask."

Mokuba sweated on the spot. He had lost all his willpower. Now his brother was counting on him, and he was letting him down. Again. How often did that have to happen, big or small, for Mokuba to learn his lesson? Don't interfere, don't bother Seto, you'll mess things up –

Then Seto did something remarkable. He stood up and with smooth strides came around to the front of his desk. He stood before Mokuba as Mokuba stood before him. Mokuba stared.

He waited for Mokuba, standing patiently, and Mokuba realized how difficult this must be for him. Seto was by nature very _impatient_. This inspired him to get it out.

"Do you, um, want to go with me to the movies sometime this week?" he blurted, and he felt the weight on his shoulders rise a little. Seto's eyebrows rose a little again, too.

"The movies? You mean, to the theater?" He asked this with bizarre curiosity.

"Um, yeah," said Mokuba slowly.

"You know, I haven't been there...since we saw _Hercules_." Seto shook his head. Mokuba gaped.

"What?! That was like- what, like six years ago!"

"I know! I can't believe it, either."

"Well, we _gotta_ go, then."

"Yeah, we do. What was I _doing_ for six years?" They both knew. This put a bit of a damper on their roll. But they both looked at each other with new light behind their eyes. Inexplicably – without warning – they both smiled at each other.

"Name the date," Seto said, and he clung to his smile a moment more before straightening up.

"Saturday matinee?" Mokuba said quickly. He couldn't keep his smile off. Seto returned to the other side of his desk and lifted the computer lid. He scrolled through something.

"...That's free," he confirmed with an adamant click of his mouse. Whether or not it had been before, Mokuba would never know. All he could do was grin.

"Okay," he said, "cool! So we can go to the theater close to our house-"

"You'll have to play navigator, I have no idea where that is," said Seto, and before Mokuba could respond Seto's telephone rang.

Both boys looked at it for a moment, then back at each other.

"You should probably take it," said Mokuba in earnest. Taking up his brother's time.

"I probably should," agreed Seto. He held his hand over the receiver. "So we're on for Saturday."

Mokuba smiled again. "We're on!"

"Good. Don't bail on me," said Seto with a friendly smirk. And he picked up the phone.

"Seto Kaiba," he said, sitting in his chair, bringing his other hand up to rest his forehead. Mokuba hovered for a minute. He wasn't sure how to leave. He was nervous and happy all at once. Seto looked up at him as he replied to the other line, expectant, and Mokuba got the hint.

"We'll discuss that at the next board meeting," Mokuba overheard his brother say as he maneuvered around the heavy door. "I'm not available this Saturday."

His mouth hurt from smiling, and for some reason he thought he might cry; but he figured he'd save the tears until _after_ he told Seto they were going to see _Crazy Pumpkin Massacre Summer Camp Attack 7_.


	2. Old Haunts, Part 2

"C'n I help you?"

"Two for –" Seto glanced down at his brother.

" _Crazy Pumpkin Massacre Summer Camp Attack 7,_ " Mokuba hissed.

"...For _Crazy Pumpkin Mass_ -"

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha." The disinterested theater employee printed their tickets with a lazy flick of his wrist. He slid them across the counter. "Nine bucks," he grunted.

Seto had his wallet out, but Mokuba reached over him and slapped a membership card down hard on the glass.

"Subtract it from my balance," he said with casual authority. "This one's on me."

The employee snorted, but ran the card through. Seto watched Mokuba tuck the card back into his pocket, and felt something old and sweet pass over his heart.

"Is it worthwhile to ask why there are _pumpkins_ at a summer camp?" said Seto as they filed over to the snack bar.

"You find that out when you watch the movie," replied Mokuba with a cryptic smile.

"I figured."

Seto, poised to order whatever Mokuba wanted, was startled when the employee behind the snack bar handed them an extra-large popcorn and two overflowing sodas. She grinned at Mokuba around her lip ring, and he gave her a thumbs-up.

"Your friends were here without you yesterday," she said, brushing back a curtain of black hair. "You were def missed!"

Mokuba shrugged. "We'll see it again together!" He gestured to Seto, who followed Mokuba past the cashier ("I paid everything upfront back in June!") and down the dark hallway to Theater 4.

The whole place was in need of an update, and Theater 4 continued the trend. Their shoes scuffed against threadbare carpet patterned with stained and fading film reels and clapboards. In the back, an embarrassingly obsolete projector peeked through a box to point at the tall, quivering screen.

It was not without surprise that Seto found himself standing next to Mokuba smack in the middle of the front row. But Mokuba took a seat like it was the most natural thing in the world, leaning back and tilting his neck up to the heavens. He rolled his head to look up at Seto, who stood there clutching their refreshments and staring down with a blank look.

"We're not sitting here," Seto said, half questioning, half suggesting the obvious. Mokuba didn't seem to understand.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I always sit here."

They looked at each other for a minute, neither one comprehending the stubbornness of the other. Then Mokuba blinked, and his face shifted into an expression of mild horror.

"Oh! Oh, we don't have to sit here," he said, scrambling to his feet. "Here, I'll take that," he added, and he took the popcorn and his drink out of his brother's hands. He bit his lip and cast a hasty, surveying glance across the sparsely populated audience. "We can sit anywhere. Where do you want to sit? There's lots of open seats."

Seto recalled Mokuba's membership card – the feeling it had given him.

"Here's fine," he said calmly.

Mokuba was still tense. "Are you sure?"

"I'll tough it out," Seto nodded. He sat down; and Mokuba, now the awkward standing one, hesitated before following suit.

Two full, pumpkin-loaded hours later, the brothers crouched low in their seats and rubbed their necks. Seto had already administered a self-massage several times throughout the movie, without much effect – he would regret this at work tonight. Yet in spite of the soreness, Mokuba was smiling.

They continued their kneading intermittently during their limo ride home. It was the heat of the day, and their darkened limousine shielded them from the mighty August sun. Mokuba endeavored to discuss the particulars of the film – if one could call it that. It being the seventh in the series, the movie wasn't well understood by Seto. But then, there was not a whole lot to understand in the first place.

"I wish Rhonda hadn't died," Mokuba said with a wistful shake of his head, followed by a wince. "She was my favorite."

"I liked Pumpkin Scythe," said Seto benignly. Mokuba gave him an incredulous look.

"What! No one's supposed to like him!"

"I did, though." Seto dug the heel of his palm into a particularly gnarled knot. "He was the only one with any sort of depth."

Mokuba shook his head again. He leaned back in his seat and was silent for a while. They passed several quaint houses which began a gradual morph into larger ones. Two, maybe three blocks from the largest house in the city.

Suddenly, Mokuba spoke. "Do you remember my fourth grade concert?"

 _Huh?_ Seto didn't repeat it aloud. Mokuba was staring out his window, turned away from him.

"I had a part in the acting sequence," Mokuba went on. "And I didn't think you'd come. But halfway through I –" He took a breath. "I thought I saw you in the crowd."

This was coming out of nowhere. Why on earth had Mokuba decided to bring this up? There had been a karaoke scene in the movie, where all the characters stood up to sing for each other and their parents. Was that why he'd been thinking of it? Perhaps Mokuba was thinking of trying out for another play at his new school?

All this ran through Seto's head to distract him from his simple, heavy answer: _No._

But he said nothing. And Mokuba seemed to be finished, too. The limousine pulled into the Kaiba Manor driveway.

As soon as they ducked out of the backseat, Mokuba dashed around the trunk to his brother and wrapped his arms around his waist. Seto held him.

"Thanks for taking me out today," said Seto, "and...broadening my cinematic outlook." He smirked a little. Mokuba mumbled something into the folds of Seto's shirt. "Hm?"

Mokuba looked up. His smile was sad. "No problem," he said. He let go of Seto and disappeared into the house.

Alone in the driveway, the chauffeur gone in the garage, Seto stood under the sun. He let the heat wash through him from top to bottom, bottom to top, radiating up from the blacktop. He let himself feel the pain in his neck as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Yugi, so ridiculous with his spikes and chains, so enamored with puzzles – giving them out to everyone else, shackling the poor souls with finding the solution whether they liked it or not. Whether or not it tore them apart from the inside out. Whether or not it was even _possible_ to solve.

Mokuba's smile had been so sad. Seto couldn't waste any more time. He had to finish his puzzle.


	3. Amazing Grace

Joey Wheeler felt like James Bond toting Yugi's prize money around – keeping it out from under his dad's nose – for a whole _month_ after Duelist Kingdom. He'd even had it with him in his jacket when he'd gone to help save Kaiba from the virtual world. Thank God no one had thought to search him or mess with his clothes while he was lying unconscious in that pod.

On a bright Saturday morning in late May, Joey was finally on his way out the door with his fat check stashed under his armpit for the last time. He crept around the livingroom sofa where his no-account dad lay snoring in front of the T.V. and eased the back screen door open and closed with practiced care. Then down the concrete stairs and out the back gate of his apartment complex to his dented old jalopy parked across the street.

Joey slid into the driver's side, careful not to jostle the loose windowpane when he shut himself in. The engine puttered and spat to life. Geez, would his lame-obile even be allowed inside Serenity's ritzy subdivision?

He didn't have his own G.P.S., so Joey had borrowed Téa's yesterday afternoon. He'd watched her enter the address with unabashed fascination.

"Just press 'Recent Places' when you turn it on, and this will be the first one on the list," she'd said with a confident nod. Joey had taken her word for it.

Well, that much went according to plan. But the stupid suction cup wouldn't stick to the windshield without a fight – and five minutes into the trip, just as Joey was merging onto the highway, the G.P.S. slid off the glass and toppled to the floor.

"Aw, _nuts!_ You gotta be kidding me!" Joey cursed the fallen guide. It had come unplugged and everything. There was no way he could reach it without killing himself, so he turned back to the road and concentrated hard on his scant knowledge of the route. Ren had given him directions on the phone the other day...

Joey grew a little pensive thinking about that phone call. Ordinarily, he could pretty much guarantee that his sister would be home alone during the day – which was when he always called her. This was the first time in all the years he'd been calling Serenity that their mother had answered the phone.

"Hello?" she'd said coolly, and Joey's greeting had careened to a halt.

"Hey, Ren, how's it – huh?!"

He'd frozen, waiting with no idea what to say. There was an indefinite silence on the other line. And then Joey offered hesitantly into the receiver: "...Mom?"

Nothing. Joey took a shaky breath. Had she hung up?

Then: "Joey? Are you there?"

Serenity. Joey felt a churning wave of relief mingled with disappointment wash over him.

"Are you okay, Joey?" Serenity asked, anxious. Joey shook himself. He swapped hands on the receiver.

"Hey, Ren!" He forced himself to smile when he talked – Téa'd taught him that one. "Y-yeah, never better! What's up?"

"I'm fine," Serenity said, relieved as well.

Joey couldn't help but ask. "Was that Mom? What's she doin' home, Ren?"

Serenity lowered her voice. "She's leaving for the airport this evening. She stayed home to pack."

"Airport, huh?" Another business trip. Busy packing. What were the odds she'd answer his call?

Joey kept his eyes peeled for what he thought was the right exit. He hated feeling so nervous over visiting his own sister. His mom wouldn't be home – heck, she was probably in another country – and all he had to do was hand Serenity her check, hug her, and go.

Why should he be afraid?

There it was, Exit 121-B. That sounded familiar. It was the only one with a 'B,' anyway. Joey veered into the right lane and ground his whining brakes. Now came the fun part – he had to find some subdivision named after a tree. It'd help if he remembered which tree. And if there weren't ten subdivisions off this exit named after trees.

Joey turned into the first one he saw, called Mulberry Heights. It wasn't gated. Serenity hadn't mentioned a gate. He had to slow to a crawl every ten feet to weather speed bump after speed bump, so he had plenty of time to admire the stately homes on either side of the road. They all looked alike, three stories high with cavernous garages, swimming pools, basketball hoops, sparkling SUVs in the driveways. Joey wondered briefly if Kaiba's mansion was nearby, but he figured it was in a league of its own.

Man, how he'd dreamt of living in a place like this. How great it would be to be able to leave his bike or his basketball on the front porch without it being stolen overnight. How special, to play in his very own backyard without busting his knees on packed dirt and kicking trash out of the way. To grab a snack from a well-stocked pantry without having to kill a couple of roaches first.

He rolled his eyes at himself. Thinking like a ten-year-old or something. He was supposed to be looking for Serenity's place. They really did all look the same, though...what was the house number? 42? 24? Was this even the right subdivision?

Just as he crested the hundredth speed bump, Joey spotted a dark-haired figure standing in a driveway up ahead. She noticed his car at the same time and turned toward it, hesitant. She was wearing dark sunglasses.

Joey cranked his window down. "Serenity!" he called out. A smile spread over her face.

"Joey!"

She stepped out of the way, and he pulled halfway into the driveway. He relieved the engine of its terrible duty and climbed out, scooping her into a hug.

"What's up, sis?" he knuckled the top of her hair affectionately, and she laughed.

"Not much, big bro. I missed you!"

"Yeah, well I missed you more!" Serenity laughed again. Joey glanced up at the house. Big, proud, pale yellow, blue shutters. Like all the rest. He swallowed something he hadn't realized was in his throat. "Is Mom home?" he asked, surprising them both.

"What? Oh, um, no." Serenity ducked out of their hug and followed his gaze. "She's still on her trip."

"Right," said Joey, distant. There was an awkward pause before he jolted back into gear. He slapped his forehead. "What am I doing? The moment we've all been waiting for!"

Serenity watched with delight as Joey reached into his jacket pocket with a flourish and pulled out the Duelist Kingdom prize money. "Ta-da!" he said, bowing low, holding it out to his sister.

She grasped the end of it but didn't lift it out of his hand. "I can't believe it," she said. She lowered her head, and her voice cracked when it came next. "Thank you, Joey."

Joey rubbed his nose. "Aw, don't thank me," he said. "Thank Yugi for that one."

Her head moved at an odd angle, a cross between a shake and a nod.

"He couldn't have done it without you," she said, and a tear ran down her cheek. Joey shrugged. He reached out to pat her shoulder, but she locked her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. Slowly but not reluctantly, he returned the hug.

"Shh, it's okay, Ren," Joey whispered. She shook as she cried. They stood there for a while. Joey could hear kids playing in a nearby yard. Sounded like splashes in a pool.

Soon he said, "I gotta go." He loved his sister, but he couldn't stay long in such a place. Serenity, as usual, seemed to intuitively understand. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and pulled away, clutching the crinkled envelope in her other hand like her life depended on it. Her life _did_ depend on it.

"I love you, Joey," she said, smiling behind her thick sunglasses. Joey smiled back.

"Love you, too, Serenity."

Joey kept on smiling as he drove home (maybe not when that tailgating loser blew past him at 90 miles an hour, but the rest of the time for sure). He thought of how generously Yugi had given him all that money, and how humbly Serenity had received it. He was honored to be the middleman.

And boy, was he glad he was officially broke again – now Tristan would have to stop nagging him to use 'just a little bit' of the dough to order a couple of pizzas for the guys. Heck, if Serenity could see again, Joey would give up pizza for _life_.


	4. Correspondence, Part 1

Yugi Moto's birthday was June 4th. "A Gemini," his mother would declare, nodding her head with a 'tsk' as though that explained everything. Yugi often wondered if he actually did have a split personality, and why he hadn't noticed it. It wasn't until he solved the Millennium Puzzle that he learned what it _really_ meant to have another half.

What a whirlwind Duelist Kingdom had been! It was weird to go back to school the very next Monday as though nothing had changed. He felt older somehow – like he'd aged years in a matter of days. None of his problems from before seemed to matter as much. His classmates would complain about homework or sports practice, or bemoan their grounded status; Yugi and his friends were just happy to be alive and well, and together.

Yugi mulled over different things over the remainder of the school year, trying to cast his newfound light of experience on them. Why did this person act defensive? What was this person fighting for? Yugi felt these surges of empathy dry up and harden over top his old self, and form layers of understanding.

Sometimes Yugi gazed across the rows of faces and spotted Kaiba at his desk, and wondered if he was feeling the same way beneath his usual uninterested expression. Surely being trapped in the Shadow Realm was a harrowing event not even Kaiba could brush off. But Kaiba would catch Yugi staring and make sharp and narrow eye contact, and Yugi would blush and look away. He resigned himself to speculation.

On one such occasion, Yugi had just turned away from scrutinizing Kaiba when he heard a voice slip through the back of his mind.

 _Of course he has changed._

Yugi blinked. "But he seems just as mad as before!" he said aloud before he realized it. The kids around him swiveled to face him with confused and exasperated looks. Yugi clamped his hand over his mouth.

 _How has he changed?_ Yugi finished mentally, flushing bright red.

 _Perhaps it will manifest itself in a way we cannot yet see,_ returned the voice.

Yugi pondered that. His classmates rolled their eyes and went back to their business.

In fact, Yugi pondered that all day, through lunch and even on the bus ride home. He waved a vague hand to his friends and was on his way. They only exchanged raised eyebrows and shrugged; Yugi got lost in thought more times than they could count. This gave them an opportunity to finalize plans, anyway. Yugi's birthday was tomorrow.

As he lay the wrong way across his bed beneath his skylight that night, Yugi remembered that Kaiba's soul had brushed against the Shadow Realm another time, though Kaiba had not been condemned to dwell there as he had under Pegasus' control. That was the first time Yugi had ever perceived the presence of Another inside himself.

Kaiba had spitefully ripped his grandpa's treasured card, had hurt Grandpa badly enough to send him to the hospital – and Yugi's anger had overwhelmed him.

At that moment, Yugi had felt as though he were about to collapse. Instead, something had risen within him. It had caught him in the upsweep and had thrown off his fear and weakness; and it had rooted deep within him an all-consuming fire for justice. He could protect his Grandpa and his friends now. He had no choice. It was what he was meant to do. It was what he was _built_ to do.

Just after that duel ended, and Kaiba trembled and sputtered like a dying man in the desert who'd lost his mirage, Yugi had suddenly realized that it wasn't he who had fought it. It was something – some _one_ – else. For Yugi knew that the bolt of thunder with which he then struck Kaiba could not have come from him. But before he had the chance to comprehend what had just happened, Yugi had fallen back into his skin and was himself again.

Duelist Kingdom, for all its bells and whistles, had essentially taught Yugi two things: He shared his body with another Spirit, and that Spirit had been born when Yugi solved the Millennium Puzzle.

It was strange and scary and thrilling. Yugi couldn't wait to learn more about the Spirit. He was dying to know more about the power, the confidence, the skill – how all of this was freely given to him whenever he needed it, and neatly put away when he was done.

And yet the Spirit which rose so readily to do battle was entirely reticent otherwise. Today at school was the first time Yugi had heard his – _its_ \- voice in a month.

The stars glittered through the milky glass of the skylight. Yugi sighed and turned onto his stomach, shifting the Puzzle out of the way. He dangled his arms over the mattress and let his fingertips graze the floor.

Maybe he _was_ crazy after all. Maybe it was some kind of weird, advanced-stage puberty thing. Maybe this happened to all his friends in different ways, and his was just him getting better at Duel Monsters when the stakes were high.

And getting half a foot taller. And developing a deeper voice. And then shrinking back to normal when the fight was over...this made no sense.

Pegasus' eye had been _real_. Straight-up real. And Shadi, and Bakura – they had spoken of the same things. Even Grandpa seemed to hint at his knowledge of the magic bound up inside the Millennium Items.

Was the Spirit in Yugi's puzzle, the Spirit in Yugi, merely a shy spirit? Maybe it just didn't _want_ to talk.

Where did Yugi turn when he struggled to find words to speak? Of course: He would write. His clumsy phrasing and paralyzing anxiety melted away through his pen on the paper. If Yugi had something important to say, he would write it down.

Yugi wriggled himself into a proper posture and leapt off his bed. He padded over to his desk, switched on the lamp, and bent open the notebook that was already lying there. Skimming for the first blank page he could find, he found a pen with his other hand and sat back in his chair.

Yugi snapped the pen to life, and started to write.

For an hour he scrawled out question after question. He included information about himself. He described events from Duelist Kingdom and his first battle with Kaiba in case the Spirit needed to know. So caught up was Yugi in his essay that he lost track of time; when he paused to gather his thoughts, his head nodded, and he slumped forward onto his desk, asleep.

His lamp cast angular shadows over his desktop. The digital clock on his dresser burned through ten minutes. Yugi's breathing was slow and steady.

Had anyone been watching, peering through the half-light, what happened next would have seemed highly unusual. Yugi's breath hitched; his shoulders tensed, and he raised his head, but not as though he had been asleep – and as his head rose, so did his whole body, so that he sat up several inches taller than he had been before. He looked down at the notebook for a long moment, reading all that he had written. His brow furrowed. His eyes were vibrantly awake.

Then the Spirit took up the same pen that Yugi had held, in the same hand in which Yugi had held it, and began itself to write.


	5. Correspondence, Part 2

_Hello, Yugi._

 _I don't know my name, or I would tell you. I don't know how I am writing this to you._

 _I only know what you know, about anything. Even about myself._

 _I know that I am foreign. I know that this body is yours. Even this voice I hear in my mind resembles yours._

 _I remember crushing Seto Kaiba's mind. I don't remember how I did it. I don't know how to do it again._

 _It is the same with Duel Monsters. I don't remember where or when I learned to play, and I cannot place any confidence in my ability to play again until the duel starts._

 _Truly I wish I might tell you more. Desperately I wish it._

 _Forgive me for keeping your body awake. I know you have school in the morning._

 _If I do not speak to you, it is because I truly have nothing to say. My memories begin facing three Blue Eyes White Dragons, worrying about a grandfather who is not my own._

 _It was a personal emotion I fed upon that day. Forgive me for this as well._

 _May I ask_ _you_ _a question? Why have you been so kind? Why have you not been afraid of me, any more than with passing unease?_

 _I am afraid of myself, Yugi. Yet you are not afraid of me._

The Spirit picked up the pen. It paused for a long moment.

 _My handwriting is different from yours. That says much more than I can._

 _I know that Seto Kaiba will recover from his sentence in the Shadow Realm, and that he will be a better man for it. Of this I am certain. I do not know how._

 _There is some manner of bond between his soul and mine. Of this I am also certain. I still do not know how._

 _Any wisdom I offer is only a mask for my confusion._

 _I know that your friends are loyal, intensely loyal, and will fight to the death for you._

 _I know that you feel the same about them._

 _From you, I feel it, too._

 _You asked what happens to me when you take off the Puzzle. I am still there. I am without you. I feel incomplete, as you do. I cannot explain it._

 _How frustrating it is, Yugi, to listen to Pegasus and Shadi describe aspects of my history to me that I have completely forgotten. How agonizing it is to attempt to answer your questions._

 _Please know that I am deeply grateful for your generosity._

 _Had I a body, I believe I would be far more guarded and uncertain, had such a dark and troubled Presence invaded me._

The Spirit stopped. It was pained to say anything more. It lay the pen down, but in a moment snatched it up again, scrawling two words at the bottom of the page.

 _Happy birthday._

It shut the notebook, switched off the lamp, and climbed into Yugi's bed, pulling the covers over itself. It closed its eyes.

Yugi snorted and rolled onto his side, fast asleep.

* * *

 **Doctor's Note:** Thank you for your views and reviews! I want to know if I ought to attempt a future chapter for Tristan and/or Mai Valentine. Little is known about these characters, and so I can't draw comfortably from canon. Please leave a review if you'd like to read a chapter or two featuring Tristan and/or Mai. Thanks again! – Dr. Mini Pie


	6. Souvenir

"If you really want to know, Kaiba... _open your mind!_ "

For three days, Seto hadn't moved.

For a week, he hadn't spoken.

When he did speak again, his words were jumbled and nonsensical.

It took another week for Seto to react to anyone else who happened to be in the room.

Seto recalled feeling as though he were lost in thought, but with no way out. Life was a half-dream, a state of hypnosis, and all he could do was ride out every train of thought as it came and abandon all the others. He wandered so far from reality that when his mind finally did begin to clear, he had no idea where he'd left off.

So he'd left. Escaped to a cottage by the sea, long forgotten, battered by storm after storm, a storehouse for an old computerized weather monitor that was easily converted into a personal workstation. Math and science, at least, still made sense to him.

He was standing in the cottage's cramped bathroom, splashing salt-tinged water from the rusted pipes over his face, when he noticed it.

It startled him. His imagination sounded a violent alarm, and he staggered backward out of the bathroom. _Exodia_ , he thought feverishly. _Exodia! It's not possible!_

And ashamed and angry on the heels of that, _It's a Duel Monsters card. You're afraid of a stupid Duel Monsters card._

He felt the nape of his neck for a clasp and undid the necklace. He looked it over carefully. It wasn't a real Duel Monsters card – it was smaller, heavier, crafted in the likeness of one.

Another metal fastener caught Seto's eye - it was a locket. He ran a finger over the edge and tripped the clasp, and the top half of the card popped off the hinge. He eased it open as gently as he could between his hands.

Six hours later, Seto Kaiba was on his way to Duelist Kingdom – mind clear at last, blessedly clear, honed in on one thing, one face, one name: _Mokuba_.

Seto reflected on all this as he sat in his bedroom's window seat. It occurred to him in a package, like a crystal with many facets that could be considered as a whole or examined angle by angle. Lying open on his knee was a small black photo album, worn at the edges. Seto's hand lay over an empty slot, across from a filled one. His other hand absently twirled his locket between his fingers.

Mokuba had not even bothered to make a copy of the photo. He'd torn the original in two and sealed the halves in the lockets with rubber cement. The job was hasty, mediocre, but permanent.

Seto remembered when this little album fit into a backpack, and that backpack and its contents were all he had left. He remembered flipping through two family photo albums on his last day at home, scrambling to fill all twenty-four slots before he had to go. He remembered only having time to fill eleven.

At the orphanage, Mokuba would ask to see the photos every night. Seto would name every face for him. Two more photos were added during their time there – one of a sand castle, and one which he now held half of around his neck.

Seto sighed in frustration. It was so unlike him to be nostalgic. It didn't suit him. It was almost physically painful. But he knew that forcing himself to approach such a difficult task was necessary.

To solve this puzzle he had to take all of himself – including his memories – into account.

Seto flipped to the next page of the album and saw his final keepsake: on old and curling notebook paper, a lopsided drawing of a Blue Eyes White Dragon. Seto's entire being softened. He smiled.

In his desperate effort to forge the lockets, had Mokuba made it this far? Had he had time to see the photos that came before it?

Seto closed the book and stood up. He would ask Mokuba to join him in this. After all, it was Seto's turn to traverse the limb.

* * *

Mokuba sat propped up against his bed, headphones on, playing a handheld game. Two weeks till school started. He had to beat the game before homework and extra-curriculars consumed his time. Because of the theme music filling his head, he missed the knock on his door.

A moment later he thought he heard something, and he lowered his headphones. He waited. Then it came again: three knocks against thick mahogany, and, "Mokuba?"

"Hey! Hey, hey, I'm coming, sorry!" Mokuba leapt to his feet, game still dangling in one hand, and clambered over the piles of clothes on the floor. He reached the door and swung it open. Seto stood there looking slightly amused.

"I didn't know you were home," said Mokuba, confused but pleased.

"I am," said Seto simply. The music from Mokuba's game trickled out of his headphones. Seto raised an eyebrow. "How do you have any hearing left?" he asked dryly.

Mokuba raised his own eyebrows. " _You_ gave me these," he replied, tapping an earpiece. "My hearing is _your_ problem."

Seto smirked. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah – hold on," said Mokuba, glancing over his shoulder at the train wreck within. "Let me make a path..."

In Mokuba's room it was more apparent, when knowing what to look for, that the brothers had come from poverty – everything was clustered around his bed, and the remaining pieces of furniture felt out of place, dwarfed under the lofty ceiling and pushed against the walls as though the one who put them there was not sure how else to arrange them. Decoration used to be a luxury.

Mokuba kicked a clump of t-shirts into a corner and pushed his messenger bag off his bed. "Here's good?" he asked, patting his comforter.

"Works for me," said Seto, who was tall enough to climb over to the bed without too much difficulty.

They sat side by side, not quite in contact but not far apart. Mokuba's feet barely touched the ground.

"What's up?" he asked Seto. The scene felt familiar.

Seto lifted a hand to his shirt collar and brought out his locket. He snapped it open. Mokuba blushed. In an instinctive motion he reached for his own locket around his neck.

"This photo," Seto began, "came from the black album." He looked at Mokuba, who was still bright red. Mokuba nodded.

"How did you know where to find it?"

Here Mokuba twisted his locket around both hands, embarrassed. He shrugged. He made himself put a stopper on his guilt. He knew Seto liked the locket. At least, he _thought_ he knew—

"Did you get a chance to look through all of it?" asked Seto. Mokuba blinked and looked up at his brother.

"No," he answered, unsure of how much to say. He settled for, "I knew you were gonna leave. I didn't have time."

A shadow of anger passed over Seto's face, but Mokuba could tell it wasn't directed at him. Then Seto nodded, and he leaned forward slightly to reach into his back pocket; out of it he produced the weathered old album, and he held it out.

"You can look at it now if you want," he said. Mokuba gazed into Seto's face to confirm that this was the truth. As soon as he made certain, he took the album out of his brother's hands like it was a bar of gold.

Mokuba waited to open it. "Go on," said Seto.

"Will you tell me who's in them?"

There was a heavy pause. When Seto said, "Sure," his voice sounded hoarse. He bent over his brother's shoulder. Mokuba lifted the cover.

Twelve photographs and one drawing occupied the brothers for the next three hours.


	7. Inside, Outside

"See you tomorrow, Bakura."

Bakura gave a tiny wave and a half-hearted smile on his way out of the counselor's office. "Thank you," he said.

His smile rotted into a bit of a grimace once he turned away and headed for the cafeteria. He felt better after talking with the counselor. He always did. But not _It_. _It_ was always revolted by his weakness. _It_ would punish him later.

Bakura spotted his friends and pushed his dread out of his mind.

"Hey, Bakura!" It was Yugi, leaping up and waving. His Puzzle jangled and danced from the rope around his neck, completely carefree. Bakura touched a hand to his chest on impulse. He pushed his jealousy out of his mind, too.

"Hello, Yugi," he said, offering his sweetest smile. Circumstances notwithstanding, it was hard _not_ to smile back at Yugi. His joy and enthusiasm were quite infectious.

The others – Tristan, Téa, Joey – looked up from the table, where they had what looked like a large map spread out between them, and greeted him in turn. He nodded to them all.

"Excuse me," said Bakura, leaving his things on his seat and indicating the hot lunch line with another little nod of his head.

"Sure thing," said Yugi. He turned back to the map with the others. Bakura took his leave.

Halfway back to the table, Bakura noticed that his carton of milk was leaking all over the rest of his food. But he had been last in line as it was, and the cooks were already packing everything up. He cast a hesitant glance in their direction and, balking at their militant determination, shrugged the issue off.

"It's only a couple miles from one end to the other," Téa was saying as Bakura took his seat. She jabbed two fingers on either end of the map.

"Yeah, but we're gonna keep stopping and waiting in line," said Joey, sounding exasperated. "There's no way we're gonna get through it all before they close the place."

"Or have time to eat anything," Tristan chimed in.

"Good point," said Joey, rubbing his stomach. "Funnel cake and cotton candy are already callin' my name."

Téa rolled her eyes. "All you boys think about is food!" she groaned.

"If we get there really early," Yugi suggested with a timid shrug, "we could probably do it."

"Do what?"

All four teenagers spun their heads around to face Bakura, who was dipping a rather soggy dinner roll into his mashed potatoes and watching them with innocent curiosity. They exchanged guilty looks.

Téa was first to speak. "Oh, nothing," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. He saw her unconsciously adjust her position to block the map from his view.

"Nothin' _fun_ , if that's what you're wonderin'," muttered Joey.

"It doesn't, um – that is, I guess –" Yugi stuttered, flustered beyond comprehension.

Bakura looked between their nervous faces. He surprised them all with his tiny smile.

"Come to think of it," he said softly, "I believe I might be on duty in study hall today." He stood up with his tray of food and his things.

"Huh? Are you sure?" Téa knew the truth, but she needed the way out.

"Yes, I think so," he said. When they still didn't seem relieved, Bakura laughed and smiled for them again. "Truly, don't mind me!" he said. "I'm late enough as it is." He adjusted his backpack. "See you later, then."

Bakura felt their eyes on him as he left the cafeteria. His perfect understanding of their misgivings didn't seem to have any effect on his emotions. He took a seat behind a pillar near the school's entrance, out of sight, and finished his lunch through misty eyes.

It was okay. He'd never really had the desire to visit Kaiba Land, anyway.

* * *

When Bakura arrived home that evening, he found a message on his answering machine from the manager at Piggy Barn.

" _Hello, this is Bakura?_ _This is Piggy Barn._ _We received your application. We have a position open for a cook. Interview tomorrow at four o'clock. Okay, thank you, goodbye."_

This was good news. He had to focus on that. His dress clothes were dirty – he'd wash them tonight. Bakura gathered his clothing from the floor and set it gently in his hamper. He left on old jeans and a ratty white t-shirt.

Full of anxiety, Bakura dared to slide the Ring off his neck. Nothing. He placed it under the cushion of his futon. Nothing. It had been silent since that morning.

Bakura had a terrible feeling. But he pushed it out of his mind.

* * *

Ah, he couldn't take this anymore. He simply couldn't.

The machine was filled with cold, murky water, and it spilled out at his feet when he opened the door. It hadn't run at all. His clothes lay inside in a heaping pile, soaked through and painted with detergent.

These were his only dress clothes. He had his interview tomorrow. He had no money to buy new ones.

Bakura stood before the machine and dropped his head into his hands.

He stood there for a long time, until the manager appeared.

"We're closing," he said.

"Sorry," said Bakura. He scooped the sopping wad into his hamper and left.

The night was hot and loud – as it always was in this neighborhood. The smell of fried food and alcohol took turns nauseating him. Roaches scattered to the storm drains as he passed under streetlight after streetlight.

Bakura balanced the hamper on one hip and fumbled with his apartment key. The smash of breaking glass behind him made him flinch. _Dash it all_ , he thought, terrified to stay out – petrified to go in.

It was dark. No overhead light.

 _You reek of rose petals_ , it said, laughing at him. Bakura set the hamper at the foot of the futon.

 _Anything fun going on downtown?_

Bakura crossed to the kitchen. He picked up a glass and filled it with water.

 _I was thinking we might go out._

His trembling hand gave a spasm. Water sloshed over the rim.

 _But what a state we're in. We can't be seen like this._

A gleam of gold rose from the corner of the room. Bakura's knees buckled, and he reached for the counter to hold himself up. He shook his head, but there were no words.

 _How about a change of clothes?_

* * *

 _I loathe you. I despise you. You are weak, you are wretched; you are a coward._

 _You don't have to put on the Ring. No one makes you wear the Ring. You put it on for pleasure. You enjoy the demon – I_ know _you do. You can't lie to yourself. Can you?_

 _It's no wonder you aren't invited anywhere. It's better that you aren't. You would hurt them if you were there. It's better if you don't get the job. You would hurt them, too._

 _If you weren't a coward, you would get rid of the Ring. 'Dad gave it to you,' 'it's special,' I never hear the end of it. If Dad sent you a pile of garbage , would you keep that? If he sent you a dead rat, would you keep that?_

 _What's the matter with you?_

 _Will you do nothing?_

 _Will you ever do anything?_

Odorous clothes pasted to his body, the demon grinned and thieved and stalked the streets until dawn.

* * *

At school the next day, Téa noticed Bakura arrive an hour late. His wrinkled uniform hung off his body, and bags hung from his eyes – he had a look on his face that made her look twice.

"Bakura!" she hollered after class, before he could duck out of the room. He turned to her, gazing dumbly.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You look like you could be sick."

He mumbled something. She leaned in.

"What?"

"Maybe sick in the head!" he chirped, and laughed shrilly. Téa recoiled, confused.

"Bakura—" But before she could fully process what had just occurred, he shrank back down and shrugged, as mild as ever.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he said. "Only I'm a bit nervous for my job interview after school today."

"Oh, you've got a job interview? That's great!" Téa brightened. "Where will it be?"

"A place near my apartment downtown," he said, seeming a shade too happy at the prospect. "But it seems I'll have to wear my uniform. The wash ruined my better clothes last night."

Téa frowned. "That's lame," she said. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

 _Not anything along the lines_ you're _thinking, foolish girl._

"No, I'm fine, really. Thank you, Téa."

"No problem."

"I really must be going," said Bakura, leaning toward the door.

"See you around, Bakura! Good luck!"

"Goodbye, Téa!"

 _How sweet. Did you see that? She wants to know all about you. She thinks you all got so much closer at Duelist Kingdom._

He licked his lips, relishing the memory of the salty taste of blood.

 _She wants to be your friend. But I think_ my _companionship is enough, agreed?_

 _Which class is next? Which fools shall we taunt this time around?_

He stopped in front of the counselor's office, and the demon spat in disgust.

 _Here again? You're_ pathetic _. This is_ your _ridiculous charade,_ you _take it from here._

Bakura staggered, gripping the locker beside him for support and scraping his hand on the metal. He panted and swooned. Too sick to stand, he sank to his knees; laying his head on them, he waited for the wave to pass.

The door opened above him. "Bakura?" said the counselor. "Are you alright?"

Bakura raised his head. He gave the only kind of smile there was that could hold back a sob.

"Come on in," said the counselor. "We're running a few minutes behind."

"Sorry," he said.

Why he even bothered to lift himself to his feet one more time, and stumble into this room one more time – he didn't have the strength to give a reason.


	8. You Just Call

Téa Gardner couldn't keep the tears from coming. She paced back and forth, trying and failing to breathe. She padded around the first floor of her house in circles, through the living room and hallway and back to the kitchen, but the darkness and emptiness of the place only upset her further.

She found herself in front of the phone that hung from the kitchen wall, dialing Yugi's number. She held back sobs and gasps as it rang. No answer.

She tried it again – no answer. Her memory threw other numbers to the fore: Joey, Tristan, Bakura. No one answered. She left them each a shaky message. Then she sunk to the linoleum floor, inconsolably miserable, and continued to cry.

A few minutes later, the phone rang over her head. Téa wiped her nose and stood up to retrieve it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Téa, it's Joey! I got your message!" His familiar voice made her tremble with relief.

"Hey, Joey," she blubbered.

"What's the matter, why're you cryin'?" He sounded earnest. Téa didn't have the gumption to explain anything to him over the phone.

"C-can you come over?" she asked weakly.

"Yeah, of course," said Joey, "Gimme ten minutes. Um –" He fussed with something in the background. "Do you care if I bring some pizza rolls? Like, a _lot_ of pizza rolls?"

She would've laughed another time. "Sure," she said.

"Okay, cool! See you in ten!" Joey hung up. Téa pressed her head back against the cold tile wall, fighting wave after wave of misery as she stared the second-hand on the kitchen clock scrape around the face ten times.

In the middle of the twelfth go-around, Téa heard Joey's knock on the door. She wiped her nose again and crossed into the dark entryway to let him in.

"Hi, Téa," he said loudly. It was still raining, and Joey was soaking wet without an umbrella. He staggered into the entryway, vainly wiping his shoes, trying and failing to keep the area as spotless as it had been. Under his jacket he had something bound up – a steamy Ziploc bag crammed full of pizza rolls.

"I'll, uh, just put these here." He left his soggy sneakers on the welcome mat by the door, and he noticed the small lake fast forming at his feet. "Aw, man. Sorry. You got a towel or somethin'?"

"Yeah. Come in and get warm," Téa told him, and she held out her hands for the pizza rolls. "I'll put them in the kitchen."

"Thanks, Téa."

Still dripping, Joey followed her into the kitchen, where she set the bag of rolls on the counter and passed him a clean dish towel. He rubbed his hair with it and set to drying his arms, but he was quick to address her.

"So what's up?" he asked. "You look like you've been cryin' all night."

Téa felt more tears sting her already tired and swollen eyes. She looked away. "It's dumb," she said, "but I had to tell somebody." She turned to the opposite counter and rifled through the pile of mail there. When she faced Joey again, she was holding a long, thin letter.

"It's from the New York Center of Dance," she said, forcing her voice not to break. "It's a flyer for their internship program. I had signed up for the newsletter, and I was waiting to hear about the application deadline." She bent open the tri-folded cardstock. "But it says—" She choked up again. Joey listened and waited.

"It says," she finished, "that the deadline was July 1st."

"Last week," Joey said under his breath.

"Yeah," said Téa, utterly bereft. "But I had no idea. This is the first letter they've sent me since January." She crossed her arms over her stomach and bit her lip.

"But that – that makes no sense," Joey argued, confused and indignant on her behalf. "If they don't tell you the deadline – how's that even fair?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know."

Joey thought of one more thing. "Can't you wait till next year, an' try again?" he asked delicately.

Téa just kept on shaking her head. "The cutoff is sixteen. Next year I'll be seventeen."

She stood there clutching the letter, doing her absolute best not to cry again, and her face and body contorted into deeper agony. Joey stared, unsure. He had never seen Téa break down like this before. He couldn't tell what she wanted him to do - but he knew what he'd want someone to do for him.

"C'mere," he said, holding out an arm. His clothes were still damp, but that gave neither of them pause. Téa let out a gasp of gratitude and grief, and fell into his awkward hug, bawling.

* * *

They sat side-by-side against the kitchen wall for hours, talking and munching on lukewarm pizza rolls. Téa managed to talk through much of her grief, and Joey occasionally interrupted with encouraging words (and a few angry pronouncements here and there, including about three of, "It was probably Kaiba's fault!"). Both of them shared things that they weren't expecting to share; but both of them knew it would never leave the confidence of the kitchen.

Around midnight - long after the last pizza roll had been consumed - Joey stretched out his legs and felt the fabric of his jeans. "Hm – pretty dry," he said. "Just about time to get 'em drenched again, I guess."

Téa smiled as she stood up. "The rain might've stopped by now."

Joey rose to his feet stiffly. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "Nah. It's _me_ we're talkin' about. It'll start again when it sees me comin'."

Téa laughed. She walked with him to the door, where he squelched his feet into his wet sneakers. Before he left, he turned back to her, standing on the top stair of her porch.

"Téa," he asked, "I'm just tryin' to figure it out, but—" He hesitated. "Why'd you call me? Why not Yugi or somebody?"

This caught her a bit off-guard, but Téa gave a little shrug and said with a half-smile, "You were the only one who answered."

"Oh." This seemed acceptable to Joey. He nodded and returned her smile. "Well, I'm glad we got to talk, anyways."

"Me, too," said Téa, fully sincere.

"Hey, have a good night, Téa, okay?" said Joey. "And call me again if you need somebody."

"I will. You have a good night, too, Joey."

"You got it," he said, and he tromped down off her porch steps into the splattering rain that was just beginning to fall again. Téa stood in the doorway and watched until his car pulled away into the hazy night. She smiled when she looked down and noticed her socks were soaked through.

* * *

 **Doctor's Note:** I read once that Kazuki Takahashi considers Joey to be stronger than both Yugi and Kaiba. That's stuck with me, and I wanted to explore what makes Joey so strong with this quieter chapter. Thank you for reading! - Dr. Mini Pie


	9. The Tormentor, Part 1

Mokuba was right – Seto _was_ into this kind of thing.

Seto couldn't keep the gleam out of his eyes. He couldn't stop lifting the slim piece of laminated paper, turning it in the light, admiring the artwork, imagining the monster – no, the _god_ – rising vast and glorious above the arena and annihilating everything in its path.

This was what it was to be a king of games, a master: to have such awesome power at your fingertips and, answering to neither man nor immortal, to demonstrate it at your whim. It's what Yugi had taken from him; it's what he now felt guaranteed to take back in short order.

Roofs and walls could not contain this behemoth. Solid Vision technology had to be pushed farther into advancement than Seto had ever thought possible before. He wanted the city, the country, the _world_ to witness the wrath of Obelisk the Tormentor. And he wanted them to see who commanded it.

Long story short, he had to get this Duel Disk done.

Seto leaned back with his chair pushed against the window and his feet propped against the edge of his desk. Chunks of plastic and metal lay scattered across the desk and floor, with several pieces stacked in his lap. He held tiny screws between his teeth and had an Allen key stashed behind his ear. A toolbox sat open at his right, and he fumbled through it without looking. Redirecting his attention wasted time.

 _It's not done; it has to be done_ : these two facts kept circling in his mind. They were the spark and the gas that kept his fire burning, with the spirit of the power of a god rushing constantly through it.

Seto didn't notice the minutes of work morph into hours, or the hours morph into days. Gozaburo and the demands of running a Fortune 500 company had permanently conditioned him to relentless work. He paused only for immediate Kaiba Corp. business, or to eat or drink when he stopped seeing straight. He also paused to admire his treasure at every opportunity.

 _Obelisk_. Even its _name_ sounded foreboding, warning of the raw and crushing power to come. Ishizu had had no idea what she'd unleashed when she'd handed this over to him.

"How's the Duel Disk coming?"

"It's not done."

Seto cleared his throat, alarmed at how raspy his voice had grown from disuse, and looked up. Mokuba stood at the far end of the room, dressed in his school uniform. What time was it? What _day_ was it?

Mokuba smiled halfway. "I'm sure you'll get it done soon," he said. "Can I check out your work-in-progress?"

Seto had already turned back to the half-built card reader in his lap, but jumped nearly out of his chair when Mokuba appeared at his shoulder.

"Cool –" began Mokuba, but Seto cut him off.

"It's not done," he repeated. Then he noticed Mokuba's eyes wandering toward Obelisk. Seto snatched his deck off the desk and crammed the cards as carefully as he could into his pocket, out of sight.

Mokuba made no indication that he'd seen the god card. "Sorry," he said, backing off. He blushed with guilt and a little offense. "It's just really cool. I don't care that it's not finished."

"You'll see it when it's done," Seto murmured, not at all apologetic. He bent over his work again.

It irritated Seto to feel Mokuba watching him, and Mokuba made no move to leave at first. When he broke the tense silence, Seto stiffened.

"You look exhausted," Mokuba said, full of concern. "Are you hungry? Do you want something to— "

"I said you'll see it when it's done, so leave me alone!" snapped Seto, whirling on his brother and glaring sharply. Mokuba flinched. "I know how to eat. I'll get it myself. Just get outta here, I can't focus with you breathing down my neck."

Shaking his head, Seto resumed his work a third time. How did anyone expect him to get any work done around here? He had to get this done – Obelisk was waiting. Good thing Mokuba hadn't seen—

 _Wait._

But when Seto looked up, Mokuba was gone.

* * *

Three more days, Seto projected, and the Duel Disk would be ready for action. If he kept up his current pace, he could have it done in three days. He heard Obelisk's distant and reluctant rumble of approval. _Forgive me for making you wait,_ Seto thought, painstakingly stitching the wires of a circuit board. _For making_ us _wait_.

Meanwhile at Kaiba Corp., frantic employees struggled to keep things from spiraling into complete chaos. Mr. Kaiba had been absent from the building for the past five days and had stopped answering his phone and his emails. Picking up his slack was like trying to drive a car without a steering wheel, or trying to launch a bullet without a gun – i.e., not working in the slightest.

As a Vice President with no formal training, Mokuba couldn't have helped if he tried. What he usually did, and usually with quick success, was encourage his brother to take back the helm. But this time Seto didn't wanna hear it. Mokuba only shrugged in resignation at the looks of despair from the staff.

Mokuba couldn't figure out why Seto was so obsessed with _this_ project. That bothered him more than his brother's nasty remarks – enough of those were leftover in Mokuba's pre-Duelist Kingdom memory that he could file them away with little problem. Seto loved technology, and he'd lose himself in his work all the time; but not so secretively, so defensively, for days on end. Not at the expense of his company.

 _Or his relationship with his brother_ – no, forget that. No place for self-pity.

Seto would probably cool off soon. The Disk had looked pretty far along when Mokuba had last seen it, and that was a couple days ago. Come to think of it, that was the last time he'd seen _Seto_ , too.

Oh, man – he had to check on him.

Mokuba decided it without deliberation. He had to check on Seto. What if he'd passed out, or hurt himself somehow? But Seto's glare flashed through Mokuba's mind again as Mokuba made his way to his brother's home office, and it kindled reservation in his heart.

It was unsettling, the way it bothered him ('guess it _did_ bother him, after all). It was an old game, one that Mokuba had learned a long time ago: Don't make trouble for Seto. When you're around, you'll probably mess something up for him. So don't get comfortable. Don't get in his way. It's better for everyone.

But Mokuba had thought – he had dared to think these past few months – that the rules of the game were changing. He'd thought Yugi had done something to help. Mokuba had thought he might finally stop cowering at his brother's feet or crawling behind him. That he might start walking _with_ his brother, side by side.

He arrived at Seto's office then. As quietly as he could, Mokuba tried the handle – locked. He'd figured as much. Instead he pressed his ear against the door and strained to catch a sound.

Was that very faint tinkering he heard? The gentle clatter of wire-cutters being set on the desktop? Mokuba listened as raptly as possible.

After a minute or two of positing and debating whether or not to knock, Mokuba gave a start when he heard his brother's voice. It was low and smooth, almost tender. The door muffled most of it, but Mokuba made out fleeting strains.

"...you've waited...don't worry...days until it's done..."

Could he be talking to someone? Did he finally answer his phone? But he'd never talk on the phone in his right mind with that tone of voice –

"...witness...unstoppable...name burned into their... _real_ meaning of torment."

This agitated Mokuba, but he told himself to calm down. Seto liked being dramatic, and he was probably just talking about Duel Monsters. Talking to himself, though – _that_ was weird.

Mokuba needn't hear anything else. Seto was alive and – well, not _well_ , but doing his thing, however unhealthy it was. Mokuba still wanted to make extra-sure his brother was okay, but he knew if he knocked now, he'd sorely regret it. He pushed back from the door and took several purposeful steps away from the room.

 _The 'real meaning of torment?'_

As Mokuba walked something welled up inside him, the perverse and wretched comfort of dark familiarity. He despised the relief he felt. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to welcome this. But at least he knew this game. He was an expert, a five-star champion. He hated it, but it was easy.

With each step he took down the hall, Mokuba dashed little bits of his hope against the ground, as though he were scattering seeds over dry and thirsty soil.

 _Don't interfere...don't interfere...don't interfere._

* * *

 **Doctor's Note:** This two-shot marks the turning point of the Kaiba brothers' arc featured throughout this collection. Also, in case anyone wants to follow along, my head-canon timeline for the collection can be found below. Thank you - please leave a review! :) - Dr. Mini Pie

 _After the Island_ Timeline:

 _Duelist Kingdom: April 24-29, 2003_

Ch. 1: (Kaiba bros) early August, 2003

Ch. 2: "

Ch.3: (Joey) May, 2003

Ch.4: (Yugi/Yami) June 3/4, 2003

Ch.5: "

Ch.6: (Kaiba bros) late August, 2003

Ch.7: (Bakura) mid-June, 2003

Ch.8: (Tea/Joey) early July, 2003

 _Ishizu gives Kaiba Obelisk: September 1, 2003_

Ch.9: (Kaiba bros) early September, 2003

Ch.10: (Kaiba bros) September 10/11, 2003

(Chapters in-progress)

 _Battle City: October 11-24, 2003_


	10. The Tormentor, Part 2

_It has to be done. It's not done_. It became the anthem of Seto Kaiba's life.

But he couldn't afford to ignore his body any longer. It clawed at him inside and out for sleep, drawing down his eyelids and dropping his reflexes at every opportunity. Seto drove himself mad for an hour trying to affix a single shaft of plastic to the Duel Disk's exterior. After the fifth bruise on his foot from the butt of the wrench, he wearily scooped the tool off the floor, tossed it at his toolbox (it missed, ricocheted and landed by the trashcan), and stumbled out of his office.

His shoes were already off, abandoned in the office somewhere. He didn't remember if he had to use the bathroom, or whether it was day or night – his body was so thrilled by his relinquish of control that it smothered him with sleep the second he hit his bed.

What felt like moments later, Seto jolted upright, awoken by a piercing shriek.

 _Mokuba!_ He thought, and this only, and ran barefoot out of his room down the hall to his brother's door. But before he made it there a pair of arms shot out of the shadows and pushed against his chest, stopping him short.

"Seto!" cried Mokuba. Seto squinted into the darkness; his brother's face gained sketchy clarity.

"Mokuba," said Seto, breathless, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" assured Mokuba. "But Seto—"

"Why did you scream? What happened?"

Mokuba shook his head. "That wasn't me."

"Then who was it?!" Seto demanded, feeling his adrenaline wear off and his exhaustion roll back to the fore. "Is someone in the house?"

"No," said Mokuba. The charcoal smudges that were Mokuba's face contorted into deep concern. "That was you. _You_ screamed."

Seto blinked. "Don't be ridiculous," he said.

"It was. I'm not lying." Mokuba stood his ground. "I woke up 'cause I had to pee, and I heard you scream."

They stared at each other for a minute, caught in an obstinate stand-off, until Seto's feet and back and head and everything protested.

"...whatever," he conceded, too tired to be embarrassed. "Go back to bed, Mokuba. Sorry I woke you up." He turned and headed back toward his room.

"You didn't wake me up," called Mokuba from behind. "Are you sure you're okay—"

"Goodnight, Mokuba."

"...goodnight, Seto."

Had he any shred of his wits about him, Seto would've remembered the proper term: 'night terror.' He'd had them before a few times in his life. But sleep pushed his memories out of the way, too, and deposited him on the bed exactly as he had been – sprawled out atop of the comforter, sliding half off the edge.

 _It's not done_ , Seto thought automatically, before sleep blew the candle out.

* * *

At last, the day had come! With his briefcase swinging in one hand and his trench coat slicing the wind at his heels, Seto swept past rows and rows of Kaiba Corp. employees to the top of Kaiba Corp. Tower, where he'd set up a special dueling platform just for this occasion.

The deck of cards in his pocket quivered with anticipation. At the top of the stack, Obelisk the Tormentor gazed stoically down over them all.

 _TO BATTLE_ , he rumbled.

"To battle," answered Seto, eyes glinting.

Hundreds of Kaiba Corp. employees stood in a crescent moon around the dueling platform, dead silent, uniform, faces slack. Ants before a mighty god like Obelisk. Dregs. Crumbs.

Seto's opponent, the dueling robot, whirred steadily in the distance. " _Prepare to lose,_ " it issued in its mechanical drone. Seto smirked.

"Prepare to meet your maker," he drawled. With a flourish he whisked his finished Duel Disk out of his briefcase and slid it onto his forearm. He loaded his deck.

They dueled.

In no time, Seto had enough monsters on the field to summon the Sovereign he gripped in his hand. This was it. His blood chilled and boiled all at once as he announced the terms of his sacrifice. His ritual offerings dissolved before his eyes.

"COME FORTH," he bellowed, "OBELISK THE TORMENTOR!"

Smoke billowed from the platform, blinding him, and a rush of wind filled Seto's hearing. The ground shook beneath him. Was this his newfound, rightful power, he thought gleefully – the power of the gods?

But the monster who rose from the card wasn't Obelisk the Tormentor.

It was another kind of tormentor entirely.

Red and gray and black, sharp as a smooth shard of glass, nine, ten, twenty stories tall and owning every inch of it.

"Seto," said Gozaburo Kaiba, with enough savagery oozing from that one word to wreck an army, "I don't remember saying you had time for _games_."

Seto dropped his cards and threw off his Duel Disk, but the hologram didn't vanish. Instead, it solidified, and took a step toward him. Seto responded with a trembling step backward.

"What's this?" Gozaburo crooned, reaching down to pick up the Disk. He examined it mockingly. "Cute," he said, and the Duel Disk burst into flames in his hand before he pitched it off the tower.

"No!"

Gozaburo laughed. "I will teach you how to fight battles, Seto," he said, and his voice grew suddenly cold.

He was holding a gun. He advanced toward Seto again, who had fallen to his knees and now stared helplessly up at the fearsome apparition.

 _Apparition._

"Take this and learn what a real battle is like!" ordered Gozaburo with a voice like black lightning. Smoke still swirled about them. Gozaburo thrust the gun into Seto's arms, and the weight of the weapon pinned them to the ground.

"I can't," Seto moaned, eleven years old and petrified.

"You've always been pathetic," said Gozaburo. He kicked Seto and the gun, knocking him to the edge of the platform. A churning black hole now consumed the base of the tower. Gozaburo jabbed his toe into Seto's side, poised to administer a final kick.

"If you can't fight," Gozaburo pronounced, grim and ruthlessly sure, "you deserve to die."

"But you're dead," mouthed Seto, robbed of his voice, a shivering wreck.

"What's that, boy?!"

"You're dead," Seto said again, and his voice returned. This was true, he knew it was. This was true, and he'd never hold a gun again, and this suit the color of blood, these black and soulless eyes, they were just a foul memory—

"You're _dead!_ " he shouted.

The wind from the black hole rushed over him and filled his lungs. He struggled to breathe, choking on the smoke. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and the gun turned into a dead weight, and it slid down toward the black hole and dragged him over the edge of the—

—bed, and Seto hit the ground facedown with a heavy _thump_.

He drew his knees into his chest and crouched there for a long time, gasping for breath. He kept his eyes squeezed shut.

The first thought that entered his wounded mind, came in his child's voice: _Gozaburo's dead._

When he had taken over Kaiba Corp. at 13 years old, his voice had still been in transition, cracked and uncertain, even though the words it dictated had been clear and sure.

He heard a bird calling outside. Was it morning?

Seto's breathing slowed. The folds of his old dress shirt and trousers rustled into being. He felt his belt buckle digging into his stomach, the rough skin of his heels scraping against the cuffs of his pants. Against his chest a slip of cold metal pressed into him.

Against his chest also pressed the weight of his old shame, his enduring anger. Why, when he dreamed only once in a decade, did it have to be a nightmare?

* * *

Two hours and a shower later, Seto stood in his home office, appraising the squalor he'd left behind the night before.

He _could_ pick up where he left off. His hands itched for the tools, and his mind for the calculations. Yet in spite of the stubborn skirting of his thoughts around the implications of his dream, they kept colliding with its corners.

Seto saw that his answering machine was off the hook; he leaned down to plug it in and nearly gagged at its blinking status report: _581 unheard messages_. As soon as he reconnected the phone, it rang. He picked it up.

"Kaiba," he said, wary.

"MISTER KAIBA." It was Roland, sounding more relieved than Seto had ever heard anyone sound.

"That's the one," said Seto.

"ARE YOU COMING IN TO THE OFFICE TODAY."

"How late am I?"

"SIX DAYS AND SEVEN HOURS, SIR."

"...I'll be there soon."

"Thank God, sir." Roland hung up.

Seto thought, _god_ ; and Seto thought, _Obelisk_ ; and Seto thought, _Gozaburo_ ; and Seto thought, _Mokuba_.

A chill ran down his spine. He suddenly needed his brother very, very badly.

Where was he? At school? What day was it? He still hadn't checked the date. He picked up the phone and hit redial.

"Mister Kaiba?" said Roland on the other line.

"Where's Mokuba?"

"Here, sir."

"I'll be there now."

"Okay, si—" Seto hung up this time.

He cast a final glance over his improvised laboratory. Hundreds of pieces of the Duel Disk remained unassembled; he could account for the role of every one. It wasn't done. It had to be done.

But so did something else.

Seto proceeded to break twenty-eight Domino City traffic laws before arriving at Kaiba Corp. nine minutes later.

"There he is!"

"He's back – MR. KAIBA!"

Exasperation, frustration, relief, disbelief, all rose as fretful clouds from the employees who flocked around Seto as he strode into the lobby. When a young secretary caught sight of him, screamed, and fainted into the Blue Eyes White Dragon fountain, Seto thought that there was no comparison between this and his dream – this was _definitely_ real.

At the opposite end of the expansive room, the elevator doors slid open, and a tight-knit group of suits including Roland burst out. Shoving past them at waist-height was one extremely harried but relieved Mokuba Kaiba. He ran to his brother and had to yank his arms down to his sides to keep from hugging him in front of everyone.

Seto reached out and hugged him anyway, quick and tight. "Hey, kid," he said.

Mokuba was shocked and delighted, but he had to let go first – he was still catching his breath.

"You made it, Seto!" he cried, grinning and panting. "We can't handle it without you! Everything's going crazy!"

"You think?" asked Seto wryly as he watched two more secretaries struggle to pull their coworker out of the water.

"What were you doing in your office for so _long?_ "

Seto considered his answer. He looked around; Kaiba Corp. employees continued to gather in the lobby to witness his return. There were hundreds of them, pushing into a close and jabbering circle. Roland was standing between them and the brothers, maintaining a tenuous ring of space.

"Well," said Seto, "I guess this is as good a time as any."

Mokuba watched him, puzzled. "For what?"

"To make the announcement." Seto smirked. He straightened his shoulders, rose to his full height, and thrust his arm into the air – the arm that would soon be wielding a Duel Disk.

"Men and women of the Kaiba Corporation!" His voice rang out above the chatter, and a hush immediately settled over the crowd. They all locked their eyes on him. Mokuba gazed up in reverent admiration.

"I hope my absence hasn't made you soft, because we're undertaking an unprecedented project as of right now!"

The crowd murmured – unprecedented? But there's so much to catch up on—

"Kaiba Corp. will be hosting its own Duel Monsters tournament, starting one month from today!"

Mokuba gasped along with everyone else.

"And I've decided that our old dueling arenas are cheap has-beens!" Seto spun on his heel to engage every rapt face. He spread his arms wide.

"We're going to give the world a tournament the likes of which it's never seen before! We're going to transform Domino City into one grand arena!

"One month from today, Domino City becomes _Battle City!_ "

The crowd forgot their former panic. They rallied into a roaring cheer.

Seto's smirk deepened, but not at the riling response from his audience, however satisfying.

 _You're wrong_ , he sneered in his mind, reveling in his private irony. _Games are_ all _I have time for_.

He felt a tug on his sleeve, and he lowered his arm and bent down to face an ecstatic Mokuba. It was too loud to hear him over the crowd, but Seto read his brother's lips: _This is gonna be the coolest thing ever!_

Seto's smirk now softened. _I know_ , he mouthed back.

 _I was worried about you!_ Mokuba's eyes shone with more than excitement.

 _I know._

He could tell Mokuba wanted to hug him again, and he let him. When they pulled back, the crowd was still in an uproar; Roland was literally bending over backward to hold them at bay. Seto rolled his eyes, and Mokuba laughed.

 _You wanna compete?_ Seto shouted mutely.

 _Me?!_ Mokuba looked startled. _Uh – no, that's okay!_

Seto nodded as though he expected that. _Just don't think you're off the hook_ , he said.

Mokuba blinked. _Why?_

 _I need a commissioner._

The noise began to die down a little, and Seto caught Mokuba's voice over the rest. "A _what?_ " he hollered.

"A commissioner! Someone to enforce the tournament rules!"

Mokuba remained confused. "Somebody else would be way better at that than me," he said, a crease lodged between his eyebrows.

"You're not supposed to _tell_ me that, kid," said Seto, feigning faux pas. He peered over his shoulder in a charade (as though anyone would've overheard in that racket, anyway). "We gotta work on your job interview skills."

Mokuba laughed a little but was too overwhelmed to find words. He looked every which way, and then down at his sneakers. "Thank you," he whispered to them.

"Well?"

Mokuba raised his head. His lopsided smile was full of incredulous gratitude. "I'll do it!"

Seto's returning smile lit up the lobby. "Excellent."

The crowd had closed in and now jostled hard against them. Seto's smile morphed into a scowl; he whirled around, and the nearest employees fled in alarm.

"Did I say we were hosting a city-wide kindergarten party?" Seto fired at them. "We have one month – _get to work!_ "

Mokuba watched his brother storm off toward the elevator, Roland hot at his right hand, employees diving out of his path and fleeing to their workstations; he started to laugh. Tears ran down his face, and he almost split his side from laughing so hard. Happiness had a vice-grip on his heart, and was in no hurry to let go.


	11. The Name Game

Since the Spirit had responded to Yugi's letter, it seemed that all Yugi wanted to do was chat. _Bond._ Coax the Spirit even further out of his golden shell. Yugi made overtures for conversation day and night, and the Spirit did his level best not to remind Yugi that he _didn't have anything to say_.

Yugi first decided that the Spirit was a male because its voice was so deep, and the Spirit tacitly agreed. Yugi then moved on to names. He recalled that the Puzzle had come from Egypt, but didn't know any Egyptian names outside of a handful from ancient mythology. The Spirit had no response for Yugi's suggestions here, either – he doubted very seriously that he'd recognize his real name, even if Yugi somehow managed to select it.

Yugi was debating between Seth and Jarrod ("A modern one with Egyptian flare!") for several hours one afternoon, and the Spirit had had just about enough of this one-sided game of dress-up. He retreated as deftly as he could into the Puzzle. Yugi was too preoccupied to notice.

The Spirit wandered through the maze-like passages of his mind, not intending to go anywhere or find anything – only wanting to think.

He knew instinctively that a challenge approached. He could sense it in what would have been his bones. He could taste it with his memory. There was a storm brewing. Someone, somewhere, was clutching a gauntlet, and was preparing to throw it down.

The Spirit just didn't know _how_ he knew. Perhaps he might broach the subject with Yugi. Yugi would likely be thrilled to talk about _anything_ , as long as they were talking in the first place.

More pressing, though, was the strange feeling the Spirit suddenly felt tugging at his gut. He scrambled against the polished floor, lost his footing, and was swept up and out of his mind with the force of a whirlwind.

"What the—"

"So this is the Spirit of the Millennium Puzzle."

The Spirit's vision swam into focus. He forced his breathing to calm. He felt stiff and confined in his hands and feet – he was back in Yugi's body. In front of him, looking him up and down appraisingly as one might consider an item at a pawn shop, was an old man who curiously resembled Yugi – Yugi's grandfather.

"Y-yes," stammered the Spirit in reply, glancing about himself to gain orientation. He was sitting opposite Yugi's grandfather at the kitchen table. Last he'd known, he'd been upstairs in Yugi's room.

Yugi's grandfather – _just 'Grandpa,' Yugi calls him_ – continued to scrutinize the Spirit, as though he expected to discover some telling defect. The Spirit fidgeted under his gaze.

"Yugi wants to call you 'Seth,'" said Grandpa with a small chuckle. "But I don't think that'll do."

The Spirit blinked. "He can call me whatever he likes," he answered slowly.

Grandpa's eyes never left him as he shook his head and said, "My vote is for Jarrod. You heard it from my own mouth." He winked.

Before the Spirit could respond, he felt the tug in his stomach lurch in the opposite direction, and he was thrown back onto the floor of the Puzzle's inner chamber.

The Spirit staggered to his feet and brushed himself off. "Yugi," he directed to the ceiling, "What's going on?"

There came no reply. The Spirit could hear Yugi's thoughts distantly, a rushing garble of sound. He decided to make bold and re-enter Yugi's primary consciousness. But when he tried the handle of the golden door that led there, he found it locked.

"What on earth?" he muttered. He tried again, " _Yugi!_ "

The only response was the tug.

The Spirit reeled once again, blinking back the glaring sting of daylight. This time he was standing outside some kind of restaurant, and staring right into a familiar young woman's face.

"Oh!" said Téa Gardner with a sudden blush. "H-hi."

"Hello," he ventured.

Téa continued to blush, but she straightened herself up and smoothed down her jacket in an effort to calm her outward demeanor. "I like both names," she said, "but my favorite is probably Jarrod."

She pushed a layer of brown hair behind her shoulder, and the Spirit realized she did it to look pretty.

When he didn't respond, Téa blushed again and said anxiously, "But if you like Seth better, it's up to you!"

"I—"

The tug.

He had been growing angry, but now the Spirit could pick up on what was going on. It wouldn't be long before the tug came again, throwing him into the arena like a gladiator at the games. But he was good at games – he could play along.

Sure enough, not a minute later, the Spirit embraced the tug and whirled into being. The same restaurant, a different spot. Two rough-and-tumble young men sitting across from him in a booth.

"Whoa. Next time you gotta warn me before you do that, Yug'."

 _This is Joey Wheeler...and his friend. Trevor? No..._

"So whaddaya think, Tristan?" _Ah. Tristan._

"I think I've been waiting so long for my food that I'm gonna eat it as tomorrow's breakfast instead of dinner!"

Joey elbowed Tristan in in the ribs. "Not about the _food_ , ya nimrod. The _names._ "

"Oh. Uh..." Tristan looked over the Spirit without really looking at him. He shrugged. "Just looks like a 'Yugi' to me."

Joey brought a hand to his forehead and massaged his temples. "You can be a real idiot sometimes, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

"Yeah, well anyway." Joey took a huge swig of his extra-large soda. He set it down, wiped his mouth, looked the Spirit square in the eye and said with conviction: " _Seth_."

The Spirit raised his eyebrows.

"...yeah," said Joey, nodding. "Seth. For sure."

Tristan glanced between their faces. Recognition dawned on his own.

"Yeah. _Seth._ I like it," he said, trying the name on his tongue.

Joey slapped his hand down on the table, and made Tristan and the Spirit jump.

"Dat's two fer Seth. You keepin' track of this, Yug'?"

The Spirit didn't bother explaining; he rode the tug back into the Puzzle, and placidly awaited the next round.

It was a while before he was summoned again. He was back at Yugi's home, the game shop, and he was holding a phone receiver up to his ear. Trying to throw him off, was Yugi? The Spirit _did_ know what a phone was.

"Hello?" he said smoothly.

"Oh, hello," came a gentle voice. The Spirit recognized it right away – this was Bakura.

The boy with the Ring.

There was a great hesitation on the other line. "Which do you prefer, Bakura?" the Spirit prompted. More hesitation.

"...Jarrod," Bakura said at last. "Seth is taken."

"Huh?" _Taken?_ This piqued the Spirit's interest. "What do you mean—wait—"

But Yugi, wherever he was lurking, seemed not to have heard. _Fwump_ , and the Spirit lay face-down on his mind's golden floor. It was annoying, but ultimately fine with him – he now had something new to think about, and where better to think than in his mind?

Seth was 'taken?' By _whom?_ Bakura was the only one of Yugi's friends who possessed his own knowledge of the Millennium Items. He himself owned the Millennium Ring, which housed another Spirit – a far darker one. Was Seth the name of the Spirit inside Bakura? And if it was – how did that spirit know? Had it kept its memories? Had it invented the name for itself, or had Bakura done it for him?

It wasn't until they met Ishizu Ishtar at the Ancient Egypt Exhibit, and bore witness to the weathered tablets of his history, that Yugi and the Spirit discarded both 'Seth' and 'Jarrod' in favor of 'Yami' – the name of Yugi's shadow, Yugi's other darkness.

Yami knew that this name was fitting. He had walked in darkness for so long; he would have to earn a name of light. Perhaps this new tournament - Seto Kaiba's gauntlet - was his chance.


End file.
